


Down The Hall

by cosmiccastles



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Character(s) of Color, F/F, F/M, Humanstuck, M/M, Pocstuck, Recreational Drug Use, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, i'll probably add more tags as they become relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5185883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmiccastles/pseuds/cosmiccastles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Vriska and Terezi first move in a few doors down from the Strider brothers, they don't think anything of it. All too soon, however, it's the only thing on their minds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay so because im a self-indulgent prick i just wanted to write something involving vriska and bro having lots of kinky sex and a plot sort of developed so. here you go . 
> 
> apologies in advance for my assuredly embarrassing spanish
> 
> i feel like i could go on rambling here for a while but i'll try and stop myself, i hope u enjoy this fic (even if there is no bro/vriska in the first chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the boys smoke some dope

                “Hey, I think there’s a couple people moving in down the hall.”

                Dave’s voice draws Bro out of his stupor, and he glances up from his computer monitor with a soft noise of confused recognition. “What’s that?” he asks, giving a sniff and tapping off some cigarette ashes into the empty can of Fanta on his desk.

                “I said,” his brother repeats, voice and eyes rolling as he opens the fridge and grabs a Capri Sun, taking a moment to stab the straw through before continuing, “I think we’ve got some new neighbors.” He leans against the counter and slurps at his juice, toeing off his shoes and flicking them in the general direction of the door.

                “Oh.” It takes Bro a second to fit the puzzle pieces together, eyes sliding from Dave to his shoes to his backpack slumped against the wall. He hadn’t even noticed the passing of time, but it had to have been past 3, since his brother was home from school. Dave must have seen the neighbors moving in as he made his way down the hall to the apartment.

                “Who are they?” he asks, swiveling back around in his chair to face his computer, clicking idly through the Auction House on Flight Rising. He’s been spending his afternoon wisely. Orange eyes glazed over and crusty at the corners with sleeplessness, he sucks on his cigarette mechanically, blowing the smoke out his nose and giving another hard sniffle.

                “Dunno, didn’t talk to ‘em.” Dave replies, pausing to loudly slurp up the rest of his Capri Sun with the telltale crinkling of the pouch, his victorious hiss a telltale sign that he managed to sink it in the trash can with one toss. The floor creaks as he meanders over towards Bro’s setup, folding his arms on the older Strider’s head and resting his chin atop them, watching him scroll through the colorful dragons. “Just some black chick and her boyfriend.”

                Bro gives a bit of a smirk. “’Least they ain’t _bolillos_.”

                “True.” Bro feels the weight against his head linger for a few more seconds before easing up, his brother giving a sigh as he stretches. “It safe to assume that you don’t want to go talk to them?” Dave asks. His voice strains in the wake of his stretch, his sentence capped off with a yawn. Bro just nods in response, giving another sniff. It’s as he’s mechanically raising his cigarette to his mouth for another drag that he feels a hand against his, dark brows raising as he glances at his brother. Dave’s grinning, and with his thick but nimble fingers, slips the smoke out of Bro’s grasp.

                “Hey!” He protests gently, swatting at Dave’s side as the kid takes a long inhale and chuckles, the smoke curling out of his nose. “You shouldn’t be smoking anyways, dude,” he chides, tapping his ashes into the Fanta can, resting his elbow on Bro’s head as he does so. “I could hear you sniffling and snorting from three floors down, your allergies are acting up, _carnal_.”

Bro retorts with an elbow to Dave’s side, huffing and spitting a thick wad of spit into the can. “ _Si, lo que sea,”_ he mutters, shuffling a bit in his seat. “Now go away, don’t you have homework to do or something?”

                Dave just gives another little laugh, already starting to move away. “Look, man, you can just say it,” he says as he hefts up his backpack. “You’re mad jealous of this nubile young bod of mine and my much higher capability to handle putting poisons in my body. You’re a car about to break down, dawg.” As he heads past Bro towards his room, he suddenly turns around, exclaiming, “Oh! Speaking of cars, tonight we should hit up Whataburger and hotbox Starscream.”

                Bro rolls his eyes with a good-natured little grin. “You fatass piece of shit stoner,” he says, catching Dave’s gaze and crinkling his face up with mock dismay. “Fine.” It only takes a moment for him to agree, because honestly, that sounds pretty damn nice. Not that he’s been working his ass off this week or anything, but sometimes a dude just needs some fast food and some dope. “But we’re smoking your weed,” he concedes, wiping at his nose and giving a cough. “Since you proposed the idea.”

                Dave smiles around his cigarette as he takes a drag, raising his brows as he shows off with a French inhale. “Fair deal, I guess. Nepeta gave me an eighth the other day, so.”

                Now it’s time for Bro to raise his eyebrows at the mention of one of his brother’s friends from school, a wry smile playing at his face. “You been hanging out with her a lot lately,” he teases, his voice lilting. “You sure you two got nothin’ going on?”

                As he expected and desired, his brother’s cheeks flush at that, and he flicks some ashes onto the floor. “Positive,” he insists, voice as firm as he can manage. “I mean, she’s real nice, but I’m not into her, man. Not my type.” A pause, and he adds, “She’s just a friend.”

                Bro snorts and wipes at his nose, shaking his head a little as he looks back to his monitor. “ _Lo que sea_ , man. Just tell me whenever you wanna head out for dinner, mkay?” Despite Dave’s encouragements otherwise, as he speaks he slides out another cigarette from the carton. His voice is muffled around the filter as he lights it, eyes already starting to fix on the screen again. Dave shakes his head and sighs, all exaggerated drama, and turns to his room.

                “Yeah, yeah. Oh, and I’ll probably enlist you for help with my calc homework tonight, Bro. We’re starting in on Taylor series.” He says, peering his head back around the doorframe, but his brother’s already wholly engrossed in his game. With a small, good-natured smile, Dave gazes at him for a few moments more before slipping into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him, Bro clicking away at his digital dragons.

 

* * *

 

                It’s several hours later and they’re in Bro’s beaten up old car, wadded up Whataburger wrappers tossed carelessly on the floor and in the backseat, to join the already sizeable piles of garbage there. Bro’s got the driver’s seat cocked back, the frayed rubber heels of his Chucks resting against the steering wheel. Their shared joint smolders between his fingers.

                “Hey,” Dave whines petulantly, nudging at his brother’s side. “Gimme some.”

                Bro glances over and blinks a few times, smirking as he passes it over. “Not sure if you need any more, man,” he says with a bit of a chuckle. “Your eyes are so fuckin’ red.”

                Dave snorts as he takes a hit, letting the smoke linger in his mouth for a bit before exhaling, nice and slow. “No shit, Sherlock. Can’t believe it’s taken you 18 years to figure that one out.”

                Bro just gives a scoff in response, sighing deeply and basking in the pale haze of the car. He feels too good and far away to elaborate on something so stupid.

                “Mm-” Beside him, Dave gives a soft noise, holding a finger up as he takes another long drag, pausing to blow a slightly wonky smoke ring before speaking. “Suck my dick, Gandalf,” his brother says with a wheezy laugh, devolving briefly into a cough that he talks through, “Thinking you’re hot shit with your- your smoke sailboats and whatnot.”

                Dave gives another little cough and offers, “Nah, though, let’s shotgun.”

                Bro gives a short little nod, running his tongue over his lips. “’Kay.” He shifts in his seat a little and pats his thigh. “C’mere.”

                With a bit of work, Dave manages to swing a thick leg over the gearshift, clumsily making his way into the driver’s seat, lightly straddling his brother’s lap. With one hand he holds the joint; the other presses against Bro’s shoulder for leverage. “Your car’s too small, man…” he gripes, already bringing the joint up to his lips.

                Bro just gives a little laugh, resting a hand on his brother’s side as he retorts, “Or, more likely, you’re too damn big. Fuckin’ fatty.”

                “Shut up.” Dave manages to slip in, soft and swift, before taking a nice, long hit. His eyes flutter shut as he leans forward, hand moving automatically. They’ve done this so many times before, their actions are almost mechanical. Doesn’t mean it isn’t enjoyable, though. His fingers slide up the side of Bro’s neck to cradle his cheek, thumb moving to lightly part his lips as he brings his face in, slowly exhaling the smoke into his brother’s mouth.

                Bro eases into the seat, relaxing into the routine as he sucks the smoke in, eyes flickering open as he relishes the sensation. Above him, Dave takes a little while longer to open his eyes, iris and sclera two shades of red. He must be more high than Bro is, moving more slowly, because his mouth hovers mere inches away for a little bit, tongue peeking out to wet his lips before he draws back.

                “Mmh.” It’s Bro’s turn to give a soft sound, faint tendrils of smoke drifting from his lips as he looks at his brother, smiling faintly. “Man, give Nepeta my love. She grows some good weed.”

                At the gentle reprimand Bro rolls his eyes, his hold on his brother’s hip moving from tender to something more casual, like Dave’s side is more of an armrest than anything. “Alright, fine. Actual conversation time, then.”

                He sniffs and blinks some of the smoke away from his eyes, catching his brother’s gaze and raising his brows. “I know first semester ain’t even done yet,” he begins, pausing to reach over and snatch up a cold onion ring from its package, propped haphazardly in a cup holder. He chews it slowly and talks with his mouth full. “But you started thinking about colleges yet? Or whatever you wanna do with yourself once you graduate?”

                Dave’s quiet for a moment, fidgeting on Bro’s lap. “I mean,” he replies a little uneasily, nibbling at a chapped lip as he grazes the end of the joint against the mouth of his empty drink cup to ash it. “I ain’t considered any specific places yet, but… think I do wanna stay somewhere pretty close to home. Just ‘cause I know the area.” He moves to spit into the same cup before brushing some hair out of his eyes. “I dunno, if school turns out to not be my thing I can start looking for jobs. Look,” he says suddenly, pouting a bit as he moves closer. “When I said a real conversation, this isn’t what I meant. We’re supposed to just be getting stoned and kicking back, not getting into like, legit important shit. C’mon,” he urges, flapping his hand impatiently. “Lemme shotgun you again.”

                Bro’s expression falls for a moment, but he guesses he can’t really blame Dave for not wanting to talk about it right now. A little hard to take discussions about college seriously when you’re surrounded by pot smoke. “Fine, fine,” he says, hand still limp against his brother’s hip. “But you haven’t dodged this discussion entirely, _‘manito_.”

                Judging by his little smirk around the joint, though, Dave seems pleased enough with his victory to not mind the inevitable talk. “ _Lo que sea,”_ he retorts playfully, cutting himself off to take a hit.

                Obediently, Bro lets his eyes slide shut and his lips part, and after a moment, he can feel the heat of his brother’s face hovering in front of his, a couple moments passing before smoke’s being blown gently into his mouth. He breathes it in slowly, enjoying the feeling of it curling warm and comforting against his throat, and he opens his eyes with a smile.

                “Thanks,” he says, even though it feels a little redundant and goofy to say, but whatever -- he’s high, it doesn’t matter.

                Dave takes a second to reply, coughing a few times before croaking, “No problem.” By now, the joint’s just about finished with, and Bro pries it from his brother’s fingers with a gentle touch.

                “Looks like we’re just about done here, homie,” he says, running a tongue over his lips as he mirrors Dave’s actions from before, smearing the ash off over the edge of his cup. “C’mon,” he urges with a sniff, jerking his head towards the passenger’s seat. “Let’s roll down the windows and get you home. You got school in the morning.”

                As expected, Dave looks pouty, his hands now more pawing at Bro’s chest as opposed to pounding on it. “You’re such a dick, man,” he whines, flicking at his brother’s nose, causing his septum ring to wiggle.

                Bro just scrunches his face up playfully, swatting at Dave’s side. “We got plenty of other chances to toke up together, bro. ‘Sides, it’s almost midnight. So,” he says, pointing a thumb towards the other seat with a grin. “Your fat ass – offa me.” Giving Dave’s butt a light pat, he offers him a small smile, reassurance that he’s only teasing. Must be the weed talking -- he isn’t normally this affectionate.

                With a groan, his brother obliges, moving slowly over the gearshift and plopping down into his seat, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Next time,” he grumbles as Bro adjusts his seat, switching Starscream on in order to roll down the windows, “we’re smoking your weed, _güe_.”

                Bro just gives a little laugh, running his tongue over his lips as he takes one last hit. He exhales the smoke through his nose before tipping the roach into Dave’s cup, their makeshift ashtray. “And you’re calling me the shitty stoner for talking about the weed? C’mon, man, have a real conversation.” He looks over with a grin, hoping to get a smile out of his grumpy little brother, which he earns, however grudgingly.

                Dave shakes his head, propping a red Chuck against the dashboard and sniffing hard. “Just drive, Bro.”

                Still smirking to himself, Bro shifts his shitty little Toyota into drive and pulls out of the parking lot they’d been camping out in, the lingering pot smoke already starting to drift out the windows. There’s silence for a minute or so, Dave still stewing grouchily in the passenger’s seat, before Bro speaks.

                “Hey,” he says, a playful edge to his voice as he glances over at his brother, pointedly looking out the window at the Houston skyline. “So, uh, Nepeta got any older siblings?”

                Dave groans loudly at that, Bro giving a snorting laugh as he’s given a few well deserved slaps to his side. “ _Z_ _ócalo_! She’s got a big sister, but that doesn’t matter! Drive, dude!”

                He’s getting hilariously huffy, and Bro just grins. “ _Calmate, calmate_ ,” he urges, looking back to the road and running his tongue over his lips. “ _Soy bromeaba.”_

                Dave’s still grumpy, though, curled up tight in his seat and pouting, cheeks flushed. “I swear to God,” he mutters, shaking his head with dismay, “just take me home, you fuckin’ pothead.”

                Bro says nothing to that, just smiling to himself as he keeps his eyes on the road, though he does reach over to give his brother’s knee a brief, affectionate little pat. In his peripheral vision, he sees Dave looking over at him for a few seconds, and he swears he can hear him suck in a breath like he’s about to say something, but he keeps quiet. Shuffling in his seat, Dave just leans his head against the window and sighs, his annoyance seeming to fade in the wake of the warm Texas night.

                Unable to keep from grinning to himself, Bro finishes off the last of the cold onion rings, crunching quietly as he drives the two of them back home. His brother steadily dozes off in the seat next to him, the hum of the motor like a lullaby.

                

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive never smoked weed a day before in my life
> 
> i do plan on writing more of this, but if u liked what u read i'd really really appreciate comments!!! bro/vriska is a total crack ship that im convinced maybe only 4 people in the entire world ship but hopefully i can draw u in with promises of scourgecest and stridercest. just stick with me yall we'll get there


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vriska comes over to introduce herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at long last i've shat out the second chapter of this monstrosity  
> i hope u enjoy it i just wanted to get it outta the way ill get into Actually Interesting Shit eventually this is just setting stuff up

                It was around 10:45 when Bro heard a few hard knocks on the door. Dave had already been at school for a few hours by this point, and the only reason he’d stopped his usual morning deluge of texts was because he had a test in sociology. For all Bro knew, this wasn’t the first time his surprise visitor had knocked, and maybe that was why they were pounding at the door. He’d been playing Love Live with his headphones in, and with the sound of anime girls singing sweetly in his ears, it was difficult for him to hear anything but.

                When he does hear the knocks, though, he swiftly yanks one headphone out, eyes going wide with surprise. He definitely wasn’t expecting anybody at his door, and the fact that someone was there was startling. Maybe his new neighbors had decided to christen their freshly furnished home by celebrating and ordering delivery. It was a bit early for lunch, but Bro certainly couldn’t fault them for craving pizza. The delivery person had probably just gotten confused, is all. That apartment had been up for rent for a while, so they most likely just assumed that it had to be Bro who ordered it. The Strider place was the next door down from there, and they frequented delivery places embarrassingly often, so it was a completely understandable mistake. No big deal.

                He pushes himself up with a groan, leaving his phone laying on the futon as he makes his way for the door. Reflexively, he takes a quick look through the peephole. He doesn’t see a uniform of any sort, just a ratty cut-off shirt. Whoever his guest was, they were _tall_.

                Warily, he opens the door, coming face to chest with a man much larger than himself. Standing at a rather demure 5 foot 6 and a half, this dude had to be at the very least a foot taller, maybe even more so. Given that Bro was basically at eye-level with the guy’s chest, that’s the first thing he notices – the fabric of a handmade muscle shirt stretching taut across his pecs, showing off the twin bars in both of his nipples. Cheeks flushing slightly, Bro averts his gaze from the man’s piercings to his face.

                He’s black, with a long, angular face, and thick dreads that stretch down past his waist. Damn, Bro thinks to himself with admiration, must’ve taken a while to grow his hair out enough to do that. He’s wearing glasses like Dave’s, too – not shades, though, just regular old glasses with aviator frames. For a moment, all Bro can think about is how soft his lips look. The stranger’s voice is what tears him out of his reverie.

                “Took you long enough,” he barks, voice deep but lilting, dipping down into the San Fernando Valley before rising into uptalk at the end. The view of his nipples gets blocked as he crosses his arms across his chest, lips pursed in a scowl. For a moment, all Bro can do is gaze weakly up at him, wondering what this attractive, intimidating guy wants. Before he can fumble out a retort, however, the man just marches right on talking.

                “Damn near broke my knuckles trying to see if anyone was home. But, yeah, hi.” He huffs, brushing a dreadlock behind his ear. “I’m Vriska, I just moved in one door down.” As if Bro doesn’t know where that is, he jerks his head in the direction of his new apartment. “At the behest of my goody-two-shoes roommate,” Vriska scoffs, words heavy with disdain, “I thought I’d come and introduce myself. She’s at work right now, but you’ll probably see her by the end of the day. She just won’t see you.” At Bro’s baffled expression, he adds with a self-satisfied smirk, “She’s blind.”

                “Oh.” Well, what else was Bro supposed to say? He hesitates for a moment, trying to take in all that he’s been told. So he apparently has a blind neighbor – he’d have to tell Dave to warn her about stairs. He’d appreciate that bit of vintage memery.

                In his rather dazed state, it takes yet another conversational yank from Vriska to bring him back into the moment. “Helloooooooo!” He snaps, literally and figuratively, snapping his thick fingers in front of his face. Bro notices he’s sporting blue nail polish.

                “Anyone home? Apparently not, even though you opened the door.” Again, before Bro can reply, Vriska’s bulldozing forward in the conversation. He seems to like holding the reins of the discussion.

                “You got a name, dude? Or are you just gonna keep staring at me like a slack-jawed idiot? I can’t blame anyone for gawking – I am gorgeous – but Jesus, it makes for a boring discussion. Don’t make me do all the work here.” God, but this guy was brusque. Before Vriska can slip another insult in, Bro speaks quickly, his voice fumbling over his words.

                “Dirk. Name’s Dirk.” Clearing his throat, he adds, “But you can call me Bro. That’s what-“ he falters for a second, expression screwing up as he realizes that he can’t truthfully say that’s what ‘people’ call him, since he doesn’t exactly _know_ many people. Trying to recover, he continues, “That’s what I respond best to.”

                Vriska’s looking a little oddly at him, arms once more crossed over his chest, painted fingernails drumming against a toned bicep. Thick, dark brows raised, he gives a small sneer and declares, “I think I’ll just go with Dirk.”

                Not wanting the conversation to fall into an awkward silence, or, even worse, have Vriska truck right over him again, Bro starts up with, “So, uh. You and your roommate, you’re- you’re just friends, you’re not her boyfriend?” That particular route of the conversation is one he’s staggering along and he knows it, but Bro’s not the best at flirting and this guy is hot. May as well be up front about the fact that he’s snooping to see whether or not he’s single.

                Immediately, Vriska’s stance changes. His eyes go wide and blaze with indignation, arms dropping to his sides as he clenches his fists. Given how tall he is, Bro’s immediately fearful, pulse pounding wildly as he takes a step back, sweat blooming under his arms. What the hell did he say wrong?

                “I am _not_ a guy!” Vriska barks, and straightaway Bro wants to just melt into the floor and sink until he reaches the core of the Earth. Christ, why did he assume? He was being an idiot, you never assume somebody’s gender. Before he can stammer out an apology, however, as expected, Vriska’s charging on, growing more and more irritated, volume rising.

                “I’m a woman! W-o-m-a-n, woman! Why do people always have to assume that just because I don’t look a certain way or sound a certain way that I’m _automatically_ a man? I can be a woman without having a big pair of fake titties! I don’t need to take hormones to be a woman! I don’t need to dress feminine to be a woman!” Her anger is wholly righteous, and Bro completely gets where she’s coming from, but fuck, he’s getting scared. Not only is he really embarrassed by his avoidable fuck-up, but given their size difference, he’s positive she could snap him in half if she really wanted – and judging by how pissed she is, that’s seeming like it might happen.

                Feeling brave, not to mention fearing for his own life, Bro nervously tries to butt in, talking over her outrage, though his much more slight voice is scarcely audible.

                “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He offers, holding his hands up deferentially, knees shivering. “It- it was mad dickish of me to assume, Vriska, I’m so sorry! I- I mean,” Bro pauses to run a tongue over his lips, mouth having gone dry. He knows how infuriating it is to be misgendered, and he’s especially regretting the fact that this is gonna be his new neighbor’s first impression of him.

                “It’s not really an excuse, but- I’m trans, too, so, I… I get why you’re mad.” He draws himself up with a deep breath, meeting Vriska’s scorching gaze, trying to still his trembling and sweaty hands. “Entirely. It was especially idiotic of me to assume your gender, ‘specially because I- we’re in the same boat, y’know, so I. Yeah, I’m sorry.” Cheeks burning with shame, Bro lets his gaze slide down to the floor, adding hurriedly, “I fucked up, and I hope that this hasn’t completely ruined your impression of me.”

                Though Vriska’s quieted down, she’s still glowering at him. Bro notices with no small amount of relief, however, that the fact that he’s trans as well seems to have reassured her some. It takes a moment before she speaks again, and it’s with a pop of her lips that she declares, “I’ll accept your apology if you feed me. We just ordered pizza for dinner last night, since we don’t have any real food in the house, and Terezi’s gonna get groceries on her way home from work. But for now, I’m hungry.”

                Desperate not to get this mouthy and massive woman on his bad side, Bro gives a chain of swift nods, stepping aside and gesturing inside the apartment with a sweaty hand.

                “Y-yeah, yeah, sure. We ain’t got too much of substance, but… yeah, no problem, I’ll feed you.”

                Vriska sidles past him with a smirk, her thick frame filling up the doorway with ease, causing the two of them to be pressed up against one another for a moment. The brief bit of contact immediately has Bro’s heart leaping into his throat, orange eyes going wide behind his shades as he watches Vriska enter the embarrassingly messy apartment.

                “I love a man that grovels. Bet all I’d have to do is look at you funny to make you cry.” She croons, and Bro feels something drop heavy into the pit of his stomach before starting to squirm. Licking his lips, he closes the door behind them, glancing nervously at Vriska as she leans up against the kitchen counter and stretches, shirt riding up some to expose her stomach, her jeans laying tight and low on her narrow hips.

                Deciding not to pursue her little taunt much further, Bro stammers out, “Uh, so. Whatcha hungry for?” as he makes for the cabinets, starting to become way too aware of the fact that she can most likely see his pit stains. Squatting down, he begins to rifle through his and Dave’s meager and shamefully unhealthy stock of food, rattling off her options.

                “We got, uh… Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop Tarts, Beef Ramen… a little early for lunch, though. Um… Chester’s Hot Fries-“ he feels the need to pause and glance up at her, adding, “They’re worlds better than regular Hot Cheetos, if you’ve never tried ‘em.” Looking back into the pantry, he goes on, “Got some… Cap’n Crunch, Apple Jacks – those are Dave’s, though, probably shouldn’t offer up those – Cool Ranch Doritos… oh, shit, we got Easy Mac?” He says, pulling out a package with a grin. “I know what I’m having for lunch today.” Looking back up with Vriska, slightly more at ease now knowing that he’s at least got the prospect of shitty mac and cheese to look forward to, he asks, “So, what’cha want?”

                Surprisingly, Vriska’s been silent this whole time, her expression wry as she looks down at him. There’s a second of silence as their gazes meet, hers full of amusement, a mocking grin playing at her lips. Her brows flicker upwards, and—

                Oh. He gets it now.

                Pulse skipping a beat, Bro hurriedly pushes himself back into a standing position, surreptitiously tugging his too-short shirt down over his belt. He really hoped he hadn’t been showing too much skin just then – even worse, any sort of ass.

                He’s thankful for the fact that Vriska restrains herself from making any kind of comment about his backside, instead running her tongue over her lips before declaring, “Pop Tarts sounds good. And don’t you dare think about not toasting ‘em.”

                With a nervous chuckle, Bro moves quickly to grab a package, keeping one hand on the hem of his shirt to prevent it riding up. At least he’s wearing boxers today – if she had caught a glimpse of the waistband of his tighty-whities he’d have died.

                “As if I _wouldn’t_ toast them.” He replies, foil crackling as he pulls out the pastries, slipping them onto the toaster oven rack.

                “You like them real crispy, or nah? When I was a kid, I liked mine just barely warmed up, so.” Bro asks, looking over his shoulder. Vriska’s expression looks hungry, and in a desperate attempt to assuage the squirming in his gut, he just chalks it up to actual, physical hunger.

                “Eh, somewhere in between.” She says with a dismissive flap of her hand. “Just so long as the edges don’t get too burnt.”

                “Roger that.” Turning the dial to 2 and a half, Bro pulls out a plate and slides it across the counter to her, nudging a stray shuriken aside in the process. “Oh, yeah,” he adds, going to the fridge and popping it open. “We got drinks, too.”

                “Uh… not sure if you want something real breakfast-like, but all we got in terms of that is Dave’s apple juice, which you can’t drink, and some 2%.” Bro makes a face at that. “Again, that’s Dave’s milk. I don’t like 2%, but we ran outta skim, so. Probably gonna have to make a run to the store at some point. Oh, and there’s soda and shit, too. Orange Crush and some Mountain Dew of various flavors.” Peering back over at Vriska, he’s relieved to see her looking less rapacious and a little more intrigued.

                “You got the blue kind?” She asks, tilting her head and arching her brows.

                “Voltage?”

                Vriska grins.

                “That’s the stuff.”

                “Yeah, sure.” With a soft smile, Bro pulls out a can and tosses it to her. She catches it easily and cracks it open, taking a swig. Said swig apparently drains the whole can, though, as Vriska’s soon crushing it in one hand and tossing it on the floor. He would consider the gesture rude, but, well, given the state of the apartment, he can’t blame her for doing as the Romans do – or Bromans, in this case.

                Speaking of the apartment, Vriska’s peering curiously around the place, a look of mingled interest and trepidation dawning on her face. Bro feels his cheeks light up. Since he only ever really spends his time with Dave, he kind of forgets that the multicolored smuppets and variety of surreal, vintage puppet posters are… well, less than appealing to newcomers.

                “Soooooooo…” Vriska says carefully, breaking the awkward silence as she taps her nails on the countertop, looking over at him. She’s clearly leading up to the obvious question with this, but Bro decides not to cut her off. She likes to hear her own voice, after all.

                “What do you do for a living?”

                His smile is crooked and sheepish as he glances at the toaster oven, as though it might take the cue and click off, giving him a few moments’ escape from having to explain just what his method of money-making was. Needless to say, it doesn’t indulge him. He looks back over at Vriska, who’s looking at him with what seems like genuine curiosity tinted with ridicule. Might as well rip that particular Band-Aid off early.

                “Uh,” Bro begins nervously, all too aware of the fact that he’s been stumbling over his words a _lot_ since she showed up. With Dave, he can usually keep up a pretty good, snappy flow with his speech, only sometimes faltering into awkward fuck-ups, but apparently Vriska’s just got him completely tongue-tied. Probably just because of how intimidating she is. He’s thankful he’s gotten on her good side, greased her palms with food, because if she decided she didn’t like him… well, based on how large her hands were, she could grab him by the skull and throw him like a javelin.

                “I’m, uh. I make puppets and sell them online.” He prays he can just leave it at that and let the strangeness of his profession stop there. He’s gone stiff save for his fingers twitching anxiously at his sides, eager for the toaster oven to ring, eager to be able to have his back turned to her so she doesn’t have to see how red his face is getting.

                Apparently, she’s not buying it. Her grin widening, she shifts her weight, lips pursing like she’s trying to pick some food out from between her teeth with her tongue, and asks, “What are they, like, kid’s toys? Like Tickle Me Elmo or something?”

                Vriska nods towards the futon, atop the back of which a couple of brightly colored smuppets are draped, one with its proboscis pointing towards the pair, the other face down, ass up. Cheeks warm, Bro’s awash with the impulse to go grab the things and hide them. He and Dave have just become so desensitized to their presence that it’s really shaking him up having to explain the puppets to a judgmental stranger.

                “Not… _really_ ,” Bro begins carefully, gaze darting back over to the toaster oven, like staring at it will make it cook faster. “I mean, Dave would play around with them when he was little, but-” He cuts himself off to clear his throat. “It’s kind of akin to a kid playing with Breyer horses, they- they’re more like collectibles, really.”

                Based on her confused, squinty-eyed look, he realizes she probably has no idea what Breyer horses are. Lord, she’s probably adding yet another tally to the ‘my neighbor is a complete fucking loser’ column. Sweat and heat prickling on the back of his neck, he gives her a crooked, tight-lipped smile.

                “Uh-huh…” Vriska says slowly, lips puckering for a second before she’s pushing herself up off the counter, moving for the futon. Given how long her legs are, it takes her maybe two strides. Immediately, Bro’s eyes widen, and a protest is already halfway up his throat by the time she grabs one of the smuppets, a crimson affair he has listed on Plush Rump as being made with ‘whore red’ felt. Paralyzed with fear, he watches as she turns the thing over in her hands. His eyes dart over to the toaster oven as it dings, as if to taunt him. Pop Tarts won’t save you now, man.

                Vriska’s lips twist into a smirk as she examines the smuppet, squeezing it around the middle so that its cartoony eyes bulge out, complete with an adorable squeak. She strokes a finger along its lengthy, delicately curved nose, looking at Bro with barely contained mockery and mirth playing at her mouth.

                “I dunno, I mean…” She says, drawing out her o’s as she raises her brows at him, eyes gleaming. “This fella’s looking a little…” She pauses for dramatic effect, and Bro feels something hot and frightened wriggling in the pit of his stomach, like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

                “Phallic.”

                Bro’s got no excuse. He remains motionless save for his shivery hands, shamefully averting his gaze to the grimy kitchen tile, face burning. At this rate, it would’ve been faster to toast the Pop Tarts on his cheeks as opposed to in the oven.

                It’s the sound of an achingly familiar buzzing that has his head jolting back to attention, and he feels his sweat go icy cold as he’s made to witness Vriska having squeezed the smuppet’s little hand, the creature’s entire body spasming wildly. Dear God in Heaven, please just let him die right now. He feels dizzy with heat and embarrassment, and he prays that if he does pass out, he cracks his head open on the counter and is killed instantly. Why on earth did he let this woman into his house?

                Vriska’s still staring him down with that wry, mocking look, lips pursed tightly as she tries not to smile, the little red smuppet having a sexual seizure in her broad, brown palm.

                “Shit,” she remarks as if dismayed, shaking her head and clucking her tongue. “Didn’t realize things had gotten so rough down on Sesame Street over the years. Elmo’s having to whore himself out now just to make ends meet?”

                Her own joke has her bursting into cacophonous cackles as Bro eyes the shuriken still gleaming on the counter, wondering how hard it’d be for him to slit his own throat with it. His whole body’s drenched in mortified moisture, so much so that if he’d have wet himself for fear and shame, he wouldn’t have noticed it. That would’ve been the icing on the cake.

                “Oh, my God,” Vriska hoots, nudging her glasses up to wipe at an apparently teary eye, her fingers coming away caked in mascara. She tosses the still thrashing smuppet to Bro, who just barely manages to catch it in fumbling hands, hurriedly switching the vibrator off.

                “You are too much, Dirk, honestly.” She’s still laughing to herself as she slides past him to reach the toaster oven, bumping her hip against his to nudge him out of the way. The brief contact has him giving an unbidden little cry, eliciting yet another chuckle from Vriska as she helps herself to her Pop Tarts, not even bothering to plate them up as she takes a big chomp out of one. When she speaks, crumbs spray from between her lips.

                “Jesus, jumpy much?” She teases through a full mouth, prodding at his side with a long, thick finger, making him squeak again. Bro’s already pretty hypersensitive after having burned himself to a crisp with embarrassment, and now she’s just messing with a vulnerable target. He rubs at the spot she poked with a tight frown, able to feel beads of sweat dripping down from his hairy pits.

                “Man, didn’t realize I was living only a few feet away from some kind of puppet-loving pervert.” Vriska scoffs with a shake of her head, taking another bite out of her Pop Tart. The thing’s already half gone at this point – she’s got a big mouth.

                “Shut up.” Bro manages to grumble, smearing a clammy palm against his burning cheek, as if that would help cool him off. His weak retort does nothing to deter her, however, and she bumps their hips together again, a bit more playfully this time.

                “Doesn’t surprise me in the least that a dude who’s got a hankering for Pinocchio’s wood lives by himself. Man, you must get laid _all_ the time.” She taunts, sentences punctuated as she crams the rest of the toaster pastry into her mouth, unable to keep from going on, too amused by her own teasing to pause for even a second.

                “Can’t believe there’s a whole Internet full of freaks like you lining up to buy those things. In-fucking-credible.” Bro remains quiet as he’s ridiculed, heart skipping a beat when she mentions his apparent bachelor status, and he feels the need to pipe up.

                “Actually,” he manages to cut her off, however weakly, her lips puckering with surprise around the mouthful of Pop Tart she’s still working on. “I don’t live alone.”

                “Ha!” Vriska snorts, a mushy wad of brown sugar cinnamon goop flying from her mouth and landing with a _thwack_ on the floor. She doesn’t seem to care, not even bothering to clap a hand over her lips as she keeps on giggling.

                “Really?! What, who’s your roommate, your mom?” She snickers, giving a hard snort to draw up some of the snot that’d begun creeping towards her upper lip. Bro stares, somewhat mystified by her repulsiveness. It was fascinating how little she seemed to care about being disgusting.

                “No, actually,” he replies meekly, heart sinking into his stomach as he realizes that what he’s about to offer up is probably just as viable taunt fodder to her as if he really did live with his mom. “I live with my little brother.”

                As expected, Vriska gives another derisive snort, eyes rolling as she looks over at him with dismay, grabbing up her second Pop Tart.

                “Man, how pathetic can you get? A couple of brothers in their 30s living together? One of you needs to get his own place already, Jesus.” She shakes her head as she takes a bite, words muffled as she continues, “I don’t see why he hasn’t moved out already, given that you probably keep him up every night beating your meat to the Muppets.”

                Though his cheeks are still burning, Bro’s glad to finally have a valid chunk of ammunition to fling back at her, retorting with perhaps a bit too much haughtiness, “Actually, my brother’s still in high school, so he has to live with me. We- our parents died.”

                Much to his surprise, Vriska seems to calm down at that, the shock of him so easily saying that their parents had passed away seeming to bring her out of her self-satisfied snickering. She glances over at him with widened eyes, their gazes meeting for a moment. In that instant, Bro wonders if maybe he’s going to get a bit of pity out of her, as opposed to further derision. The moment swiftly passes, though, and soon Vriska’s giving another roll of her eyes behind her thick glasses, chomping into her Pop Tart.

                “The sentiment still stands, then: you must get laid _all_ the time.”

                Bro can’t help but wilt somewhat, but the fact that he seems to have gotten through to her, at least a little bit, is reassuring. Underneath all that loud-mouthed bravado, there’s a hint of something softer. In spite of this new insight, though, he’s still hesitant to even touch the topic of sex with a 10-foot pole, so he decides to skirt around it as tactfully as he can manage.

                “It’s not that bad,” he offers, shifting his weight against the counter and looking far, far up at her. "We get along well enough, and unless the kid’s at school, I got a built-in punching bag.” Bro gives a weak smirk, wondering if this overzealous display of physical prowess will win him back an ounce of Vriska’s respect. “That and a reliable source of ass to kick at Soul Caliber, among other games.” Shit, he thinks, migrate the conversation out of nerd territory, she’s gonna think you’re even more of a loser. What better topic than her, then?

                “But, uh, how about you and your roommate? You two get along? You called her a goody two-shoes earlier – w’sup with that?” Thankfully, Bro’s prodding elicits a positive reaction from Vriska – or at least not anymore derision. She flutters her lips grumpily, a sound he’s quick to compare to that of a horse, flicking a lock out of her face.

                “Ughhh. She’s not bad – I mean, really, she’s great, my best friend. We’ve known each other since elementary school. She’s just…” Vriska finishes off the pastry, wiping the crumbs off her lips with a wide thumb. “Overbearing sometimes, y’know?”

                Bro’s surprised that she’s even giving him a moment to reply, and it’s with legitimate care and interest that he says, “How do you mean, if you don’t mind my asking?” Christ. He hardly even knows Vriska, but if someone as domineering as _her_ takes issue with Terezi, then she’s gotta be something else in her own right. In all honesty, he’s a bit afraid to meet her. If she and Vriska are birds of a feather, they’re hawks and he’s a pigeon – they could tear him apart.

                Of course, since the conversation revolves around her, Vriska’s not hesitant to respond, heaving a dramatic sigh and letting her gaze float up to the ceiling. “Like… she thinks she has the authority to tell me what to do and how to live my life. Bullshit like that. We’re both grown-ass women, I don’t need anyone looking after me. It’s as though she thinks she’s my mom.”

                She falls something close to quiet at that, a tense, thoughtful silence descending upon the both of them. Bro looks at her, and after a little sniff and a wetting of his lips, he offers up,

                “Well… I certainly understand where you’re coming from, and your irritation is valid. I hate when people tell me what things I should or shouldn’t do, and how I should do them. But, understandable aggravation aside,” he adds, catching her eye and earning a quirked brow, “at least you can take solace in the fact that it comes from a place of affection. You two are friends, and while I can’t exactly speak to her character, seeing as how I don’t even know her, I want to have faith in the fact that she’s not trying to control you just for the sake of controlling you. She wants to control you because she cares about you, and to her, you’re not the best you that you could be.”

                Shit. That got a little heavier than he’d intended it to, and he picks at his thumb’s cuticle with his index finger. Hopefully that bit of unintentional preaching wasn’t about to earn him a punch in the mouth.

                Thankfully, though, all Vriska does is scoff and smirk, canines gleaming sharp and white in her smile. “Bullshit. Poor girl’s misguided – there’s nothing she can do to improve what’s already perfect.” He feels something of himself in her words, their egos weakly inflated, like party balloons slowly leaking helium. But the party’s over, the cake is nothing but crumbs, and discomfort sits stony in their guts. For a moment, he feels like a child next to another child, both overgrown, heady with lost hopes.

                And just like that, the moment passes, Vriska’s all brightly colored confidence, and the tenderness and anxiety flickering between them is gone. She still makes him nervous, especially when she elbows him in the side, saying, “But hey, thanks for the food. A reliable pantry to raid is more than enough incentive to grace you with my presence.” As she speaks, she starts making her way to the door, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket – Black 100s, he notes with interest. They smoked the same brand.

                “Yo,” he says, approaching her as she lights up, glancing at him from over her palm, reflexively cupped around the flame. “Can I bum one?” There’s a moment’s pause, and Bro adds, “In return for the food.”

                Her eyes droop with what he can only chalk up to as disappointment, and it’s with a sharp sigh of smoke from her nostrils that she starts to pull another out of the pack.

                “Sure, I guess,” she grumbles as she hands it to him. Accepting it gratefully, Bro places it between his lips and inches closer. Taking the hint, Vriska grunts and moves closer, holding the cigarette firmly in her mouth as Bro leans in, lighting his off the smoldering tip of hers. It takes a moment and a few inhales before his starts burning, and in those few seconds, their eyes meet. Her brows raise and she leans back, taking a quick drag and huffing it out the corner of her mouth.

                “There. You’re paying for the next one, though.” Limp-wristed, she flicks her ashes onto the floor, tongue peeking out to wet her lips. “I’ll consider taking payment in forms other than cash.” And with that, Vriska goes ahead and traipses out, giving a careless farewell over her shoulder.

                “See you around, puppetfucker. I’ll swing by some other time to eat you out of house and home.”

                And just like that, she’s gone. Bro’s left standing by the futon, smoke smoldering uselessly between his lips, forgotten. The whole experience was surreal and not totally unpleasant, and he wonders if he dreamed it up. What pulls him back into reality is the buzzing of his phone. It can’t be anyone other than Dave.

                Sidling over to the futon, he picks his phone up and, as expected, is greeted by a text from his brother.

                TG: okay hey im back  
                TG: i know im just as surprised as you are at the fact that you managed to survive those few minutes without me

                Smiling vaguely, Bro taps out his response.

                TT:  Me too, bro, me too. Though, I have to admit, those minutes weren’t entirely spent by my lonesome.  
  
                TG: dude you do know that inanimate objects dont count as people right  
                TG: no matter how many googly eyes you surround yourself with youre still fundamentally alone  
                TG: okay never mind that got kinda dark what im saying is no amount of plushies can even come close to replacing my presence

                TT: Actually, there was a carbon-based life form in the apartment with me.  
  
                TG: gasp  
  
                TT: Shocking, I know. My social line segment has extended itself by one unit.  
                TT: She came in, berated me, ate our food, and left.  
  
                TG: and who might this charming lady be

                TT: One of our new neighbors. The one you thought to be a guy is actually a girl, and her name’s Vriska. She’s… quite something.  
  
                TG: oh shit well i feel like a jackass for assuming  
                TG: she didnt eat my apple jacks did she because if she did this means war

                TT: Nah, just some Pop Tarts.

                TG: alright so she wont die today  
  
                TT: I think it’s safe to say both Vriska and I appreciate your mercy.

                TG: so i guess this means i gotta say hi and shit huh seeing as how youre all buddy buddy now

                TT: To say I like her would be putting it incredibly generously. Quite frankly, I’m not sure how I feel about her.  

                TG: color me thrilled your reviews are glowing  
                TG: whens the wedding

                TT: You’re a riot. Doesn’t class end soon, by the way? Quit texting, be a good student.

                TG: yeah yeah excuse me for preferring socialization over calc  
                TG: euler can suck a fat one

                TT: Hey. Some of us enjoy sucking fat ones.

                TG: oh excuse me i didnt mean to offend  
                TG: but yeah ill message you whenever im free have fun making out with a hot dog or whatever it is you do in your spare time

                TT: Oh, I will. Might even cram two in there, have a sword fight.

                TG: okay yeah im gonna go vomit before calc thanks for that delicious image

                TT: You’re very welcome. _Nos vemos, ‘manito._

                TG: yeah yeah _hasta luego_  
                TG: _besos_

                Smiling, Bro takes a slow drag, tossing his phone aside. Blowing the smoke out his nose, he flicks his ashes onto the floor to join Vriska’s and grabs the remote. Now it was just time to wait for Dave to come home. Settling onto the futon, he sucks at his cigarette. Just one door away, he imagines Vriska doing the same – tasting the same flavors, breathing the same air.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blah i feel like this is v badly written and im not very inspired to continue this so. idk if u like this/wanna see more pls tell me so otherwise i get the feeling im gonna give up on this fic

**Author's Note:**

> ive never smoked weed a day before in my life
> 
> i do plan on writing more of this, but if u liked what u read i'd really really appreciate comments!!! bro/vriska is a total crack ship that im convinced maybe only 4 people in the entire world ship but hopefully i can draw u in with promises of scourgecest and stridercest. just stick with me yall we'll get there


End file.
